palace against the attacks of the mob; and that he himself was murdered during the progrefs of the riot. This popular outrage, which happened in January 1793, is here made the subject of a ferious epic poem, refembling in manner thofe of Dante, and certainly not inferior in fanciful fublimity. The author takes the ground of a high religious zealot, to whom the infulted. rights of his facred country are moft dear. He qualifies the fury of the rabble as difpetto magnanimo e giufto fdegno, and feems ambitious of canonizing the holy army which tore in pieces the fuppofed enemy of the church. He first presents us with the flaughtered body of Baffeville, and exhibits the foul as flowly liberating itself from the clay. Satan lays claim to it: but an angel of light obtains charge of it for the period destined to its purgation, and tranfports it through the air to France: E fupplicio ti fia la vifia orrenda The aerial journey is highly poetical. On the Sardinian fhore they behold the fragments of fhattered fhips, and carcafes of the repulfed invaders. They vifit Marfeilles only to shudder at the licentioufnefs of the populace, and at the profanation of a crucifix. Next they hover over the apoftate town of Avignon. At length, fights of increafing horror announce the vicinity of Paris. The fecond canto allegorically defcribes the abominations of this fecond Babylon: then the execution of Louis XVI. The gholts of Damiens, Ravaillac, Ankarftroem, and of a fourth, who conceals with the hand his name written in blood on his forehead, bring fogs from the abyfs to quench all emotion of pity in the fpectators. The fpirits of the French martyrs who fell for their king receive his foul, and accompany it to Em pyreum. The third canto introduces Baffeville moved by this scene to penitence, and afking forgivenets of Louis; to whom he narrates his adventure, and who beftows his pardon in these fublime words: Amai, potendo odiarlo, anco il nemico; Or mè tolto il poterlo : Now follows the triumph of the Parifians for the death of Louis. The ghofts of the philofophers are reprefented as thronging greedily about the fcaffold, to drink the blood of the king. A cherub with a flaming fword reftrains them. Two are thus characterized: Capitano di mille, alto fi vede Uno fpettro paffar lungo ed arcigno Filofofante, Filofofante, ch'or trai morti è corbo Again: E fu trai vivi poetando un cigno. Vaffene folo l'eloquente ed irto Orator del Contratto, ed al par del Di Sofo, ha caro l'Afrodifio mirto. manto Thefe fpirits, like the fallen angels of Klopstock, contend which has done moft mifchief; and the author of the Systême de la Nature obtains the prize. Were it not that we are loth to fee maxims of intolerance and fanaticifm fupported by the charms of a very bold and vigorous poetry, we fhould be tempted to recommend, to the excellent tranflator of Dante, this fine production of the fame fchool. ART. VI. Le Comte de Strafford: Tragédie, en cinq Ales, et en Vers. are already known to the public from his Letters to his Conflituents, which appeared in January 1790, and contained his reafons for relinquifhing his office of Deputy to the Conftituting Affembly of France. His eloquence is of the warm fentimental kind, fo common among the ftudents of Rouffeau; and his opinions, like thofe of an English Whig, tended to favour in his own country the inftitution of an ariftocratic fenate, and inclined to keeping a king with much parade of deference. He now offers to the public a tragedy, and fubjoined to it a copious biography of the hero of the piece, the Earl of Strafford. Of French tragedies, an Englishman is not commonly predifpofed to form an advantageous opinion; and, although they moftly excel our own plays in plot, in propriety of style, and in the moral fentences, maxims, or fentiments, inferted in the declamation, yet they feldom addrefs the feeling by fo powerful a pathos; and fill more rarely do they intereft the obferver of the manners, by bringing into action characters fo various, so diftinct, and fo completely evolved, as is common on the English theatre. Moliere and Diderot have indeed displayed great knowlege of human nature, both in the multiformity and confiftency of their delineations of character: but in Corneille, Racine, Voltaire, there are few and faint traces of this diftinguifhing excellence of Shakspeare. It is not, however, on the fame bench with the great tragic authors of his nation that the Comte DE LALLY-TOLENDAL can claim a place. Corneille would have given a more coloffal importance to the character of Strafford: Racine would have Nn 2 impreffed impreffed a more exquifite tenderness on the domestic anxiety; and Voltaire would have fhortened the tedious narratives and declamations, would have fecured a climax of intereft, and have allotted to every fubordinate part that precife proportion of attention, which its bearing towards the whole required. We shall not rank among the fault of this tragedy the violations of hiftoric truth and hiftoric probability, which are of a nature chiefly to offend an English audience: particularly as it appears, from the dedicatory epiftle, to have been the writer's intention to dramatife, under the name of Strafford, the misfortunes and ill-ufage of his own father; and as it cannot but be fufpected that, under the name of Charles the Firft, he wished to delineate the well-meaning weaknefs and imbecile inconftancy of Louis XVI. - a portrait but too ominous. Neither fhall we complain over the degradation of the venerable Pym into a Palais-royal rioter, and of his highly principled party into a profcribing faction; contenting our felves with extracting, for the reader's information, one of the most fuccessful scenes. Strafford is in the Tower, expecting the order for his execution. His wife and children have propitiated the guards, and come to follicit his flight: Strafford. Laiffez-moi vous ferrer dans mes bras, Sir George. O mon frère! • Tous les Enfans. O mon père! La Comtefe. C'eft celui qui change notre fort, Strafford. Songez-vous au peuple, à fa furie? La Comtefje. Eh! que me fait à moi Ce peuple & fon fénat, l'Angleterre & fon Roi? Périffent ces tyrans, & ce fénat impur Qui veut toujours du fang, & du fang le plus pur! *The Speech of John Pym, Efquire, touching my Lord of Strafford, published in June 1641, is a masterpiece of argumentative eloquence. Périffe Périffe l'Angleterre, & fon peuple, & fon Roi; Et de ce peuple entier qu'il ne reste que toi, Toi qu'ils n'ont fu connaître, ou qu'ils n'ont fu défendre, La Comteffe. Ne puis-je l'ébranle r? Strafford. Arrête. La Comteffe. Rends-toi donc. Ah! t'ai-je mal connu ? Strafford. Je ne le fuis que trop. La Comtefe. Tu pleures! La nature Enfin parle à ton cœur. Strafford, je t'en conjure, Ah! réuniffons-nous;* Mon frère, mes enfans, tombons à fes genoux; (Ils tombent tous à fes genoux.) Strafford. O Ciel! Sir George. Vivez, mon frère. Le Fils de Strafford. Vivez pour votre fils. Une des deux Filles. Confolez notre mère. Tous Enfemble. Grace! Strafford. Où fuis-je ?...Grand Dieu, dans ce cœur combattu, Fais defcendre ta force, affermis ma vertu, Connais mon facrifice, & vois ce qu'il me coùte... Lève-toi...levez vouz, & que chacun m'écoute. (Il va s'affeoir avec la Comteffe fur le banc de pierre, & il font environnés de leurs enfans.) Elifa, non, ton cœur ne fut point abufé, Quand des plus tendres feux il me crut embrafé; Nn 3 Le Le monde, fes grandeurs s'effaçaient à mes yeux. Qu'on doit être martyr pour fon DIEU, pour fon Roi. Tes pleurs feront plus doux, tu plaindras moins mon fort. Mon Fils, je vous remets le foin de ma mémoire. (A Sir George.) Quelquefois fouvenez-vous d'un frère. (A la Comtefe) Adieu...mon Eliza...tourne vers moi les yeux.... La Comtefje. (Qui, depuis quelques inftans, a les yeux fixés contre la terre, & femble méditer quelque grand projet.) Non, je ne reçois point ces funeftes adieux, Cruel! &, malgré toi, je te ferai connaître Strafford. Eliza, quels difcours! Vous me faites frémir. La Comteffe. Allons, volons, mon frère. Qu'on donne le fignal. Viens défendre ton père, Mons fils; on nous attend. Strafford. Où portez-vous vos pas? Ah! mon frère, parlez, je ne vous quitte pas: Sir George. Les chefs de votre armée. · Strafford. |